Things Do Not Change
by wildpeace
Summary: Mike, pre-Glee, realising that sometimes even small words make big differences. Mike/Kurt friendship, Mike/Matt friendship, all the canon friendships. A smattering of pre-Tike-Tike.


Things Do Not Change

A/N: The full quote is: _things do not change; we change. _Mike, pre-Glee, realising that sometimes even small words make big differences. Mike/Kurt friendship, Mike/Matt friendship, all the canon friendships. A smattering of pre-Tike-Tike.

As always to my Maple Leaf, with love.

xXx

It really all starts with an alarm clock going off thirty minutes late. Mike's not really sure how it happens, but it means him running around his room pulling a sweater on over his head, shoving his feet into bright blue sneakers and heading out of the house without breakfast and pretty sure he's left two of the notebooks he needs for today on his desk. He misses his bus and manages to plead with his mother to drop him off so he isn't late for first period. In fact, he's sprinting across the car park, backpack swinging against his shoulder and glaring down at his watch when something stops him.

A groan.

From the dumpster.

He looks down at his watch again, bites his lip. He is _so _going to be late and Ms Hagberg will probably kick his ass if she even remembers he's supposed to be in the class at all. But he _has _to keep his grades up this semester or his Dad says he'll have to stop tutoring Brittany and start focusing more on his own studies. And if _that _happens then she can say goodbye to graduating Sophomore year.

Another groan.

Cursing himself, he drops his backpack by his side and uses his arms to pull himself up the side of the dumpster. Inside, as well as garbage bags and cardboard cut offs and a bunch of things he doesn't even want to consider, a kid lies, holding his arm to his chest, his sailor hat knocked askew and his knee-length stripy sweater marked with day old spaghetti-sauce.

Kurt Hummel.

The thing is, Mike knows why he's there. Or rather, he knows how he got there. The dumpster wasn't named after Noah Puckerman for nothing, and Mike knows his fellow football player has a reputation to upkeep, though lately he's seemed more interested in scamming on the head Cheerio than tossing unfortunate underclassmen. But of course, there have been others to pick up the slack.

He's tempted to leave then, to turn around and head straight to first period, pick up his pen and study World History and pretend he was never here. The kid in the dumpster still has his eyes closed and Mike's pretty sure he hasn't noticed him. He could turn around and walk away and no one would be any the wiser. But then... something stops him. It might be that the kid's started shifting around, clearly trying to gain purchase on the bottom of the dumpster to pull himself out. It might be that no one deserves to be covered in the cafeteria's cast offs, or that Kurt looks all of about twelve. Lastly, it might be that he's _sick _of this kind of stuff happening. He's sick of kids cowering in fear at the sight of a letter jacket and how he feels guilty every time he sees one of his teammates buying a slushy.

"Need a hand?"

Pulling himself up so he perches on the corner of the dumpster, Mike holds his arm out, and he knows the kid didn't hear him climb up because Kurt curses and flails slightly and almost slips back into the globule of orange sauce that pools at the corner of the great box. The only thing that stops him slipping is Mike's quick reflexes and grip on his sleeve.

There's a long moment where neither boy moves. Mike doesn't want to overbalance and land in there with the kid, and Kurt stares at him with angry curiosity, as though wondering whether his offer of help is some kind of prank or practical joke. In the end, his desire to be out of the dumpster seems to win out over his skepticism, and he lets Mike wrap a hand around his forearm, tugging him up onto the lip of the beast so they can both jump down into the parking lot.

Looking around, Mike sees the kid's messenger bag tossed to the floor behind a badly parked Hyundai and goes to pick it up, gathering the scattered notebooks - replete with little hearts and the initials 'KH 4 FH' scrawled over and over - and brushing off the road dust. When he turns back to Kurt, he can see the small kid - and wow, it's hard to believe they're the same age - tugging his jacket around him and looking despondently at the orange stains on the back. His shoulders slump, and Mike feels it like a twist to the stomach as he holds out Kurt's bag.

"Here," he says gently, and isn't surprised when Kurt snatches the things from his hands without as much as a thank you. In fact, now he seems to have gotten a better look at Mike - all of his athletic, six foot, letterman-jacket-wearing self - Kurt holds his chin up high and haughty.

"I suppose you think I should be thanking you?" he asks, his still-high voice wavering a little, though his jaw is set.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Mike shrugs, scuffing his toe on the ground. "I doubt I would in your place."

Pulling his hat straight on his head, Kurt eyes him curiously, as though waiting for the punch line. Shoving his notebooks back in his bag, he finally asks, "What did I ever do to you?" before storming towards the building.

After signing in tardy, Mike ponders the question for the whole rest of World History, and the worst thing is, he comes up with no kind of answer at all.

xx

Up until now, Mike's always gotten along well by keeping his head down. He's quiet and he's studious and he has a couple of good friends who are way more popular than him - like Matt and Brittany - and so usually manages to just get by in the High School crowd. He plays football - that helps with his general standing - but he knows the other guys just see him as the quick Asian who they can copy their math homework off. The stupid thing is, math isn't even his best subject. At first he let it all slide - the assumptions and the stereotypes - but lately it's really been getting under his skin.

He knows the only thing that separates him from those other kids - from Kurt Hummel, and that Freshman in the wheelchair, and the skinny Junior with the acne scars - is the jacket he wears. The fact he can toss a football and run. He knows without that, he'd be just the same as the rest of them.

It plays on his mind all week and he doesn't realise how obviously distracted he's been until he's sitting at his dinner table, swirling sesame noodles around in his bowl with his fork, and is brought out of his daze by a warm, small hand slipping onto his arm.

"Michael," his mother's softly accented voice sounds, quiet and lilting and concerned. "Is something wrong?"

He's glad for once that his father has stayed late at work; he couldn't have this conversation with the older man around, or at least, not in the way he needs. "Mom...if you knew something bad was going on...like, if I knew another kid was cheating on a test or something, and *I* didn't cheat but I knew it was happening...does that make me just as bad as the kid who cheats in the first place?"

His words come out like an explosion, and then he clamps his lips together. His mother is studying him very carefully, and he can feel a blush creeping up his neck and painting his cheeks. He _hates _lying to his mother, and even if this is more a misdirection than an outright lie, he still feels wrong about it. His fingers fist in the knee of his jeans.

When his mother finally speaks, it's with a gentle pat to his arm. "Michael if you know a friend is cheating, you should tell a teacher. It isn't fair that you study all the time and they get better marks by being dishonest. You were raised to respect your education, and to know how to behave honourably."

Feeling something coil in his gut, he picks up his fork again and goes back to stabbing at his noodles. "You're right Mom," he tells her, but he can't look her in the eye. He wishes he'd stayed silent. Being told what he already knew somehow makes the situation ten times worse.

xx

In a lot of ways, Mike really hates the locker room. Sure, he likes playing football and he enjoys gym class, but there's something about shoving all the rowdy, amped-up, testosterone-fuelled, sweaty guys in a small room with no windows that makes him uneasy. And he knows he isn't the only one. At the end of gym class, most of the non-jock Sophomores dress as quickly as humanly possible, leaving sneaker laces untied or buttons undone just to get them out of the room that five seconds sooner. Mike himself just always picks a corner bench and keeps his head down, talking quietly with Matt or just concentrating on his clothes.

Across the other side of the room he can hear abuse being thrown around. Fag, ladyboy, queer, fairy, homo. He grits his teeth and ignores it, but the ringing sound of a body hitting a locker is enough to make him lift his head. Matt, too, stops in the midst of pulling on his jeans and looks curiously around the corner, and neither of them are surprised to see Kurt pulling away from a laughing group of football and hockey players, his hair mussed and his face ashen. Out of their grasp, he hurries around the corner, and reaching out, he grabs Mike's jacket from the bench and starts to stride out.

"Uh, hey...that's mine," Mike says, standing up, and Kurt stops still in his footsteps.

His body is tense and his voice furious as he turns to face the two boys. "Are you _kidding _me? You throw me around and now you want my jacket? I saved up a hundred dollars to buy this. It's mine."

Considering he's about half the size of the rest of the guys in the locker room and has just been thrown around like a rag doll, Mike's pretty impressed with his attitude. He's _pissed _and rightly so. It's because of this that Mike feels so awkward as he rubs the back of his neck, pointing towards the jacket. "No, look. I don't mean - that actually _is _my jacket. I think maybe that one's yours?" He points to a similar red and black plaid coat that's hung on one of the rickety wooden coat pegs.

The flush that takes over Kurt's cheeks is so red it looks painful, and Mike feels almost guilty as Kurt shoves his jacket back towards him, pulling his hands away as though the material's on fire.

"God Chang, you're not gonna put that on are you? Way to catch the gay!"

Across the room, Karofsky and one of his cronies high five and laugh and it's actually _embarrassing _for Mike to watch. Ignoring them, he shrugs his jacket over his shoulders. "Thanks."

After grabbing his own coat Kurt seems frozen, unsure of what to do next. His jaw is set and his face turned away from where Karofsky is pretending to hump the towel bin, making lewd remarks that have the other guys rolling around in fits of laughter. Next to him, Mike can see Matt roll his eyes at the behaviour as he ties up his sneakers.

He's not sure what comes over him next, but he reaches out and points at the smaller man. "It's a nice coat."

It's not the best of compliments, not by far, but from it, three things happen in tandem. Kurt mumbles a reply that _almost _sounds like a thanks before fleeing the locker room, Matt raises his eyebrows at him before turning back to his shoes, and Karofsky appears at his side, cuffing him in the shoulder, _hard._

"Hey Karate Kid, you better not be going all Brokeback on us," he jokes, but with a steel edge to his words.

Mike's shoulder prickles at the feel of Karofsky's hand on his shoulder, and he's just _itching _to tell Karofsky that Karate Kid is Japanese, not Chinese, and that he can go fuck himself, but instead he just shakes his head and murmurs. "No."

He's vibrating with something - with anger and frustration and just exhaustion with it all - and so he almost starts at the feel of another hand on his shoulder.

"Come on dude," Matt's low, understanding voice prompts. "Let's go to Spanish. We can sit by Santana and copy off her - Mr Schue won't notice and she owes me one. I hauled Brit's damn cat out of the storm drain again."

Mike's finds himself nodding, and Matt's hand is strong on his shoulder. He clenches his jaw and can hear Karofsky's laughter following him all the way down the hall.

xXx

It had to be that Matt got detention _that _day. Mike curses as he throws his Chem book in his bag with a growl, audible enough that Tina - his desk buddy - gives him a surprised look. "Sorry," he tells her, feeling a light blush take over his cheeks. She's a Freshman - and he knows she must be pretty smart to be allowed into the AP class - but right now all he can think about is the fact she's edging back from him as though he might suddenly bite her or something. She tugs on one of her long dark braids and stares down at her bulky black boots.

"D-don't worry," she stutters, wrapping her arms around her waist, making herself look _so _small and _so _vulnerable and he can't help cursing up a storm in his head. Everything's been going wrong today - from only being able to find one of his green sneakers (and therefore having to wear the red ones that are half a size too small - damn growth spurts), to forgetting his lunch and having to buy from the cafeteria, to the rain starting to pour thirty minutes before football practice. So why the _hell _couldn't Matt just _do _his English homework on time? Now Mike was going to have to go to practice alone, in the storm, and - after this morning's homeroom incident - sit through _another _lecture from Coach Tanaka about not hitting each other in the junk for laughs. Joy.

Tina moves out of his way as he leaves the room and he's pissed because he usually likes trying to make her smile in class. She's so shy and so scared looking all the time and damn, if he hasn't just added to that for her today.

He's stomping down the hall - shoes pinching with each step - when he hears a voice stop him.

"Hey Chang, wait up!"

There aren't enough curses in his vocabulary for that moment. Karofsky and another of his square-headed cronies wave at him from the other end of the corridor. Part of him desperately wants to just keep walking, pretend he hasn't heard them, but he knows they won't buy that. They're ten feet away and all heading in the same direction. Resigned, his feet still on the cheap linoleum until Karofsky is along side him, meaty hand slamming down on his shoulder. "You see Missy Gunderson this morning?" he asks, hands out in front of him, indicating the poor girl's well-known attributes. "Air conditioning on and no bra," he laughs.

Mike - who was in Elementary school with Missy - just nods, voice lost somewhere in the pit of his stomach. In his head he replays his favourite scene from _Footloose _while the other guys laugh at each other and make painfully inappropriate remarks about all the girls they pass in the hall. Mike's pretty proud when Santana at least has the good graces to roll her eyes and tell them to fuck off before tossing her ponytail over her shoulder and turning back to her conversation with Brit.

They've just turned the corner towards the locker rooms when Karofsky stops, his chin perking up like a hound dog that's spotted his prey. It only goes from bad to worse when Mike follows his line of sight and finds Kurt Hummel leaning over the water fountain, his jeans tight and his blazer tailored and a little air hostess-style scarf tied at his neck. Mike finds himself squeezing his eyes shut, knowing what is about to happen.

"If it isn't little fairy boy," Karofsky starts, and Mike peeks out from between his lashes to see Kurt's body freeze. He straightens up, slowly, and clutches his bag strap as he turns towards the swarm of athletes. Mike watches as Kurt tries to walk past, to ignore the jibes bouncing around and he _prays _that Karofsky will leave him alone this time, will let him go just this once. But of course, it's not that simple. As Kurt walks past, Karofsky checks him hard in the shoulder and the smaller boy goes sprawling across the floor.

Karosky and his friends laugh, hard, and Mike feels his shoulders tense. Kurt tries to stand, pulling himself upright and straightening his jacket when Karofsky goes for him again, pushing him against the locker door. Kurt's head bounces of the metal with a clang.

"Enough."

Often Mike hears about moments where people say things before they've even remembered thinking them, but this isn't like that. In fact, he's surprised it's taken this long for the word to escape his lips as it's been playing and replaying in his head for what seems like weeks. Different from the expectation as well, things don't go quiet the minute he says the word; people don't fall silent. In fact, he's not even sure they hear him at first so he moves forward, his hand stilling Karofsky's arm. "Knock it off," he says. "We're going to be late for practice."

It's an excuse, but he knows not a good enough one. Karofsky's eyebrows raise and even though his hand no longer reaches for Kurt, his fingers curl into a fist. "What?"

"Tanaka'll be pissed if we're late," Mike says again, keeping his voice level, calm, pretending like that's all he cares about. Like he's indifferent towards this cowering kid the way the rest of them seem to be.

When Karofsky turns away - and finally shrugs - the relief that takes over Mike is astounding. He remains still, unmoving, unassuming, as the others head off down the hall and then he's moving to pick up Kurt's fallen bag. "I'm sorry," he whispers as he shoves it into Kurt's surprised arms, and then he's running towards the locker room; it all happens in such a flash that he doesn't think anyone notices.

Of course, the day isn't really going his way.

xXx

He's late finishing practice - showing Coach Tanaka how to use his computer _again _- but as he peels off his jersey in the empty locker room he can't help but feel a bit relieved. His legs ache and he has to roll his shoulders a few times to work out the kinks, but he feels good - energized - after the work out.

He's just toeing off his cleats and collecting up his things for a shower when he hears the door swing open and closed. Not thinking much of it, he reaches for the tap to start the spray when he's startled by a voice from right behind him.

"You want to tell me what the _hell _you thought you were doing?"

The angry, aggressive tone is enough to make him fumble his things, and he watches as his shampoo goes skittering across the damp tiled floor. Turning, he's confused by Karofsky's twisted face, and his mind automatically scans the practice they've just had, wondering how he could have wronged the Right Guard in any way. "What?" he asks, reaching down to pick up the escaping bottle, but then Karofsky is right in front of him, backing him up against the wall, the tap digging into his back.

"I said, what the _hell _did you think you were doing calling me out in front of that little fag? Did it make you feel like a big man?"

Mike has a moment of complete panic then, because he knows what Karofsky can do. He's seen him throw kids around and mess them up; he's a big guy. Mike knows that even as toned as he is, if Karofsky wants to hurt him, he will. "No," he assures quickly, his voice soaring higher than normal as his heart beats hard. "No I didn't mean anything - "

"What, you just protecting your fellow homo?"

It takes Mike a minute to process the comment, and then he does something that he knows is really stupid: he _laughs. _"Are you serious?"

The smack of Karofsky's hand on the hard tiled wall behind his head, coupled with the disgusted look he casts over him is enough for Mike to realise that yeah, he's serious. "You and Rutherford, you think we don't notice the two of you? Thinking you're better than everyone else, giving each other those _looks. _You think it's not obvious that the two of you go and suck each other off the minute no one's around?_"_The idea of doing something like that to his best friend is enough to make Mike still for a moment, and it's enough of a pause that Karofsky seems to read confirmation. "You're disgusting, you know that?"

"And you're an idiot," Mike spits back, pushing past him and heading back to his locker, grabbing his sweater and pulling it on over his head, shower be damned. "You think one of these days someone isn't going to go to Figgins and get you suspended?"

When Karofsky looms over him, Mike realises that he's just been really _really _stupid because no one else is in the locker room and Karofsky looks murderous. "Are you threatening me?" he asks, his voice scarily calm. "What are you going to do, go all samurai on me?"

Closing his eyes, Mike takes a deep breath. "I'm Chinese."

"Like it matters."

"It _matters!"_

There's a moment when they just both stand there, staring at each other, Mike's breath ragged and his words still ringing around the room. His shoulders are tense and he's about to push past Karofsky and out of the room when a slow, sickly smile spreads over Karofsky's lips. "Well if you're gonna be so precious about it, and you two are gonna be the newest homo Brangelina, then you choose - should we call you and your boyfriend 'Chigger' or 'Nink'?"

This time it really is like losing his mind. One minute he's standing there, the next minute it's like having a stroke, or an out of body experience. In a flash his hands are up and shoving Karofsky as hard as he can. "Fuck _you!" _he yells, and for a split second Karofsky looks as surprised by the action as he feels. He stumbles a few paces and Mike feels victorious. That is until the next second where Karofsky pulls his arm back and punches him clean in the face.

It's like being hit in the head by a 2x4. Stars explode in his vision and he finds himself sprawled on the floor without any real recollection of falling. His face sears with pain and when he looks up, Karofsky is pointing a shaking, angry finger in his direction. "You should feel lucky that it was just me and you this time Chang. Clean up your attitude or next time I'll be sharing your little secret with the whole team, understood? So you might want to warn your little butt buddy too."

When he gets home that night, his father asks about his eye.

Licking his lips, Mike stares up at the older man, feeling all kinds of things swirling in his stomach: desperation, fear, pain, worry.

But when he opens his mouth, none of that comes out.

"Football accident."

His father just nods his head and reminds him to keep the music down while he studies.

xXx

It's not just his dad that notices the eye. That night his mother fusses with ice packs and iodine and the next morning Brittany insists on kissing it better even though it _hurts _the bruise more than anything else, and Matt just raises an eyebrow. "Football?" he repeats when Mike rattles off his excuse, and off Mike's taciturn nod, he just shrugs his shoulders. "Okay dude. If you say so."

The fact is, Mike knows Matt can tell the difference between an accidental elbow to the face and a purposeful punch. Matt _knows _Mike's never in the huddle enough to get clocked - it's not his position - and Mike's reflexes are better than most of the rest of the guys on the team put together. But Mike also knows that Matt won't push him for an answer. And it's a relief, because honestly, he doesn't know what to say. How is he supposed to tell his best friend that he may have brought the wrath of Karofsky - and the entire rest of the team - down on the both of them? That if they don't both _really _keep their heads down for a while, a very public humiliation and probable ass kicking is coming their way?

He curses in his head.

On his way to Chem class he watches a group of the football players huddle around the slushy machine, and he knows from the glint in their eyes that none of them are thirsty. His gut twists and as he slides into his place in class he knows he must look terrible, because even Tina - silent, stammering Tina - looks concerned. She's too shy to say anything, but she passes him a pencil when he can't find his, and the quick smile that she gives right along with it makes his heart feel lighter, just for that moment.

It's her simple sweetness that prompts him to his next action. Pulling out a piece of paper from the back of his notebook, he scrawls a message on it, and carefully folding it into squares, slides it along the desk to Tina.

Her face when it bumps her elbow is a picture. He's _never _passed her a note, _ever. _One of the things he likes about being her desk partner is they actually both get to _study. _Well, that and the fact she has a penchant for short skirts and knee socks, but he'd never say that out loud. It's not like they're really _friends _or anything. They barely know each other. So her face is at once confused and cautious. She looks at the note as though she's not really sure how it got there, and only slides it into her lap with one of her black-varnished fingers when he gives her an encouraging nod.

Reading it, her eyes go wide, and she turns to face him. "I d-don't understand," she whispers when their teacher's back is turned.

He doesn't know what to say; the message is pretty simple.

_The jocks are riled up. Make sure your friend Kurt doesn't go anywhere alone. He's got a target on his back. _  
_  
_"Just tell him to be careful," he replies, and then their teacher has turned back to the class to talk about the many uses of fluoride, rendering their conversation over. Out of the corner of her eye, he watches her slowly pull her cell phone out of her pocket and text under the table. When she's finished he finds himself breathing a sigh of relief.

As the bell rings he collects up his stuff, and he's headed towards the door when he feels a hand on his arm. It's small and clad in a black lacy glove and Tina pulls it back almost instantly, as if she can't believe her own forwardness. She goldfishes a few times, her ruby-painted lips working, and then finally manages, "W-why do you care what they d-do to him? They're your f-friends."

"No, they're not," he replies firmly.

Her expression is one of confusion. "I d-don't - "

He cuts her off with a shake of his head. "Look...just...he didn't do anything wrong. But I can't...I can't help him. He's not...he's not the only one they're after, okay? So just tell him. Tell him to watch himself."

Tina's eyes widen; dark, pretty lashes brushing her cheeks. He wishes he didn't notice the fact she's pretty. She's a Freshman and she's _weird _and the last thing he needs is to give anybody more ammunition against him. "I will."

xXx

What Mike _really _doesn't understand, is why _him. _As he mooches around the mall, waiting for his mom to get done at her hair appointment he can't help but pout a little. Why _him?_

The fact is, Finn is the one who's joined the Glee club - even if he _did _say he'll get suspended if he quits - something about pot in his locker that made Mike roll his eyes at the painful stupidity. And then _Puck _had to go and join Coach Tanaka's strange boy band? He wonders why _they _aren't the ones being metaphorically tarred and feathered and having their stuff conveniently 'go missing' from the locker room.

He's so tempted to tell Coach, he really is, but he knows it'll only lead to worse. He can't suspend the whole team and besides, Karofsky could just _deny _it all. Say it was friendly banter and Mike's just being sensitive. And Mike knows Tanaka; he'll just tell him to man up and be a sport. And nothing'll change.

He guesses the difference between Finn, Puck and him are the _women_. Everyone knows Finn's dating (and probably doing) Quinn Fabray, head Cheerio - they're McKinley's power couple, or were before they both joined the Glee club for reasons mostly unknown. And Puck – well – it's nothing short of legend that Puck's banged every girl in McKinley _and_ most of their moms. And him...well, he hasn't. Sure, when he'd taken his car to the Glee club car wash he'd been greeted by a full body hug from a bikini clad Brittany, but that was _Brittany. _And yeah, he knows she's hot and all but he'd just never had those kinds of feelings for her. He loves dancing with her, hanging out with her, tutoring her, but he just, he's never wanted to be with her like that. Even though he knows he probably _could _be, if he wanted to, Brittany's his friend. It's his job to protect her, to help her, not to take advantage of her.

Wandering into his favourite store, he's browsing through their cardigans, and alighting on one he pulls it on over his t-shirt, testing the fit. It's bright red with wide black piping, and looking in the mirror he fiddles with his hair momentarily before shifting his shoulders, trying not to strike a pose.

He's _really _glad he didn't choose to flex in the mirror when he's interrupted by the sound of a familiar, lilting voice. "Good choice."

Spinning around on one foot, he comes face to face with Kurt Hummel. He's wearing a purple shimmery shirt and a scarf and jeans that look like they've been painted on, and fingers one of the sweaters with a casual air. Looking up, he seems to realise he's shocked Mike, and licks his lips, edging back slightly. "I'm sorry," he apologises, pushing his bangs back from his forehead. "I didn't mean to - "

"That's okay," Mike cuts him off. "I know you didn't...I just wasn't...what are you doing here?"

He knows it's a stupid question because this is a _mall, _and of course he's _shopping, _but Kurt just quirks a smile and indulges him. "I left Tina in Hot Topic. There's only so much plaid I can look at before my eyes start to bleed. You?"

"Waiting for my Mom. Look Kurt I - "

"I wanted to say thank you. I uh, I got your message. I mean, Tina told me."

Blushing furiously, Mike concentrates on shrugging off the sweater. "Right." He folds it carefully, hanging it over his arm. Then avoiding Kurt's eyes, he reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck, "Look, I'm sorry I couldn't help I just - "

"You want to get a coffee?"

The invitation is sudden and unexpected and for a minute Mike doesn't know what to say. Then looking at his watch he realises he still has an hour to kill before his mom gets done, and hell, there's already a target on his back, he might as well have a cup of coffee for his troubles. "Sure."

His acceptance seems to surprise Kurt just as much as the invitation had surprised Mike. "Okay." Looking down at the sweater in Mike's arms, he asks, "Are you going to buy that first?"

Mike considers it for a moment. Then, feeling bold, he holds it up to his body. "Do you think I should?"

It's teasing, but genially so, and Kurt seems to realise that. Nodding his head, he points towards the cashiers' desk. "Absolutely. It's a good look on you."

Ten minutes later they're sitting in a corner of the food court, coffees in front of both of them and shopping bags by their feet. It's awkward, more awkward than Mike was prepared for because he's naturally shy and quiet and even though Kurt isn't, for some reason he isn't talking, and so they're just sitting there looking at their mugs and at each other. Mike taps a Sweet'n'Low packet against his fingers in a nervous rhythm. It takes a long, painful pause before Kurt _finally _licks his lips. "I did want to say thank you. But, uh, I also want to say sorry."

At this, Mike is truly confused. Stilling the sweetener, he can feel his brows crinkling on his forehead. "Why?"

At the question, Kurt ducks his head and looks at once embarrassed and a little ashamed. "Sometimes I forget...not everyone is going to be like me. I mean, I know I'm pretty out there," he says with a small, almost sad smirk and a hand wave to indicate his outfit. "But I guess...you're not what I expected."

Dumbfounded, Mike's mouth hangs open and he rakes his hand through his hair. "Kurt, I really don't - "

"I've never met anyone else who's gay before."

At this, Mike's heart does about four things at once. It freezes, staggers and breaks, and pumps guilt in his stomach. For a long moment he just sits there, staring, unable to say anything in response, and he's pretty sure it's the prolonged silence that prompts Kurt to start rambling.

"I mean, I'm sorry, I don't know if you've told anyone. But your message to Tina and Karofsky being all over you...I just wanted to tell you that you're not on your own. I mean, I haven't told my Dad yet...but I've told friends and they _support _me - I mean, Mercedes and Rachel and Tina - and I don't really know your friends...but - "

"I'm not gay."

The words fall from his lips and for a moment he wishes he could take them back, because Kurt looks like he's been slapped clean across the face. He recoils in surprise, and then his face is taken over by complete and utter embarrassment. "Tina said..."

"Yeah."

Kurt looks confused. His hands clutch at his mug. "You've never made out with Brittany. Everyone's made out with Brittany. God, everyone's _slept _with Brittany I think. But you haven't. She told me."

Shrugging his shoulders, Mike stirs his coffee with a wooden stick, staring at the swirling liquid below. "I know."

"But you're not?"

"I'm not."

"So why doesn't Karofsky...?" Kurt trails off, waving a hand between the two of them, indicating their supposed shared interest. "Why does he think?"

Snorting a laugh, Mike rakes his hand through his hair again. He knows it's going to leave him looking like a drunken porcupine, but at this moment he doesn't particularly care. "Because he's a tool. Because he doesn't like the fact that I got in his face, and thinks that calling me gay is the worst thing he can do."

"Isn't it?"

Kurt's voice when he asks the question is so very, very small, and when Mike dares a glance across the table, he's struck again by just how damn _young _he seems.

Shaking his head, Mike takes a sip of his coffee. "No," he says after a long swallow, the hot liquid burning all the way down his throat. "No, it really isn't."

Kurt nods, and for a long time they stay in silence, but this time much less awkward. Mike crosses his legs, jiggling his foot and Kurt stares out over the little fountain in the middle of the food court. It's about ten minutes or so before he gets a text asking where he is, and the two boys are prompted to move.

They walk the same direction for a while until they reach the escalators. Then turning to Mike, Kurt gives him a sad - and slightly cheeky - smile. "So you're definitely not?" he asks again, as though just to be sure.

Looking up the escalator, Mike catches sight of Tina waiting for Kurt, her dark hair streaked with blue and an exasperated smile on her face as she taps at her watch, one hip cocked to the side. "Definitely not," he assures.

"And your friend, Matt?"

"He _has _slept with Brittany. Not to mention half the other Cheerios."

Nodding his head, Kurt smiles - fully this time. "Look Mike, I appreciate - "

"It's okay. And I wouldn't - "

"I know. Thanks."

He holds his hand up in a wave as the smaller man climbs up the escalator, taking the steps two at a time. Then his own phone buzzes with a text from his mother and he begins wending his way through the Saturday crowds. When he meets her, she asks him what took him so long.

"I ran into a friend," he says simply, and can't stop the smile the creeps across his lips.

xXx

He really expects that'll be the end of his dealings with Kurt Hummel. Like, he might run into him in the halls or have a class with him next semester or something, but he really doesn't expect to see that much of him. It's not like they run in the same circles, or have the same friends. They have nothing in common, pretty much.

Then Kurt tries out for the football team. And _makes _it.

Mike's as shocked as anyone when - after listening to sixteen bars of Beyoncé and watching Kurt bust a well practiced if not super suave move - the football soars through the uprights for a perfect field goal. The voices that had only moments ago been laughing at the spectacle now are silenced in shock. On the other side of the huddle he can see Puck's mouth hanging open and Matt's eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline. If he had hair.

"That was good, right?" he can hear Kurt asking, and it's hilarious to Mike that he doesn't automatically know. What's _not _hilarious is the way he can see Karofsky's eyes darken and Azimio's hands curl into fists as Coach Tanaka announces their newest teammate.

The locker room over the next week is tense. Kurt comes to practice - even though as kicker he doesn't have too much to do - and so showers with them all afterwards. Mike's actually really impressed how well he holds his head up against the undercurrent of names and jibes and abuse that seem to linger. Karofsky loudly announces that he won't shower in the cubicle next to Kurt. "He's going to try and grab my junk."

Mike can't help but snort at that, picking up his towel, and Karofsky notices. "You got something to say to me, Chang?"

Mike shrugs, slowly. "Just don't know why you think he'd waste his time with you is all. He's gay, not blind."

There's a low collection of wolf whistles and murmured sounds of surprise. Puck smothers his laughter in Finn's shoulder and Azimio watches as though he's surprised both that Mike speaks, and would say that kind of thing to Karofsky's face.

"You wanna go round and round?" Karofsky asks, and for the second time in less than two months, Mike finds himself chest to chest with the larger guy. "Or maybe me and my buddies here should go and have a talk. See how that goes down."

Holding his head up, Mike's words are hissed through his teeth. "I don't care what you say about me."

Karofsky nods, turning around to the rest of the group. "And what about him, huh?" he says, flicking a finger towards where Matt showers, head under the spray and totally unaware of things going on around him. "You think he cares what we say about him? You think he's gonna thank you for anything that might..._come out_?"

It's like a damn punch to the stomach and _God _he hopes one day Karofsky gets his comeuppance for being such a dick. Hopefully by way of an 18-wheeler run amok. "Whatever," he spits out quietly, but it's towards his bare feet and he knows he's lost his moment.

Matt, just fresh from showering, a towel wrapped around his waist, looks between the two of them curiously. "What's going on?"

There's a long silence and then. "Nothing," Mike manages, wanting to curl up in a ball as Karofsky puffs his chest out, as though in victory. "It's nothing." Then grabbing his things, he heads to the empty cubicle, and turning the water on lets it spray him right in the face, hopefully washing away some of the humiliation.

xXx

Mike forgets that Matt's supposed to be driving him home after practice and curses as he waits next to the battered Jeep that belongs to Matt's mom on alternate days. He knows the floor is covered with scattered CDs and there's a bobble-headed Jesus on the dashboard, and looking in the glove box is like a lucky dip - you never quite know what you'll find in there, from a half eaten sandwich to a single mitten, to the manual for their dishwasher. He wishes he could climb inside now and hopefully find something to get him out of this mess, but Matt's got stopped by his English teacher on the way out, and so he's waiting in the cold, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt.

He's concentrating so hard on the pattern he's making in the dust that he doesn't notice when Matt walks up next to him; the beeping of the car doors unlocking is enough to make him startle. Getting in the car, Matt waits until Mike's buckled up, and then looks him in the face. Mike knows he can read something there and tries to school his expression, and Matt seems to accept this momentarily. Turning the keys in the ignition, he asks simply, "Wanna go DDR?"

Mike couldn't feel more relieved.

At the arcade the flashing lights and chordant beeps are like a balm to his soul. The blue and pink arrows beckon him, and he can barely wait for Matt to make change and climb up on the machine next to him before his feet start moving. They start off, as usual, on the easy settings but it quickly ramps up. Usually, they'd be swapping playful jibes, but today Mike's complete focus is on the game. His eyes don't move from the screen and he can feel his hair growing damp with sweat as his feet fly across the squares.

He's not sure how much time has passed when, in his periphery, he sees Matt disembark the machine. "Too much for me," he says with a deep inhale of air, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. "You want a soda?"

Mike barely manages a nod before carrying on, his body twisting and moving, his full focus on the flashing lights. By the time he climbs off the machine, he's beaten his high score and there's a line of people waiting for their turn. He finds Matt leaning against a retro pac-man, two large cokes in his hands. "Looks like you might need this," he says with one eyebrow raised, handing over one of the drinks. "Now you want to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing," Mike starts, but is cut off by a swift punch to the shoulder. "Ow!" he yelps, clutching his arm. "What the hell was that for?"

"I thought we were friends," Matt states with a frown, his arms crossed over his chest and looking uncharacteristically serious.

Mike feels something niggle in his stomach, and he looks around the arcade at the flashing lights and lit up screens as a way to avoid Matt's eyes as he answers. "We are."

There's a long silence, and then Matt sighs. "You think I don't know what they're saying about you?"

"Matt - "

"Do you really think I _care? _Is that what this is about? Look, I don't care who you want to tap as long as it isn't Santana because you know she belongs to me. Or Puckerman. Depending on the week. But mostly me."

It's enough that it makes Mike laugh, which he knows was Matt's intent. Tension broken, the two boys slide into shiny plastic chairs that surround a sticky table in the corner of the arcade. "You know I'm not gay," he says simply, looking at his best friend.

Leaning back in his chair, Matt nods. "I know; I've seen your browser history. Plus I know you used to get a hard on every time that nurse woman came in to teach Health. Don't deny it," he says as Mike starts laughing, and Matt's grinning as he points his finger at his friend. "I sat next to you dude, and no one needs to readjust that much."

Mike wants to curse his friend at that point because there's no way he should be a sixteen year old guy and feel _this _close to crying in front of a room full of pre-teens. Matt can obviously see his unease, because he lets them sit in companionable silence for a long beat before asking, "So, if you know you're not and I know you're not, what's the issue here? Is it about Karofsky? Because he can seriously suck my dick if he's trying to fuck you over dude. You know I've got your back."

If Mike felt bad before, it's nothing compared to how he feels when he looks over at his best friend and sees the stupid half smile on his face. Knowing Matt's ready to go for bat for him is like being kicked in the chest, and he has to exhale hard before he can speak. "He's going to say it about you."

His words are a whisper – barely audible – so it's not surprising that Matt scrunches his face up in confusion. "What?"

Mike fiddles with his straw.

"I don't care what Karofsky says about me but…he's going to out _you _Matt. To the whole school. He thinks you and I are - " he can't even finish his sentence, he simply waves a hand between the two of them before sighing, resting his forehead on his folded arms. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, face down on the table.

What he doesn't expect – the _last _thing he expects – is for Matt to start laughing. Like, full on, unable to stop himself, clutch at his ribs laughing. "Are you _kidding _me?" he manages between snatched breaths. "_This _is what you've been worrying about?"

Miserably, Mike nods.

Still chuckling, Matt reaches into his empty cup and throws a barrage of ice at his best friend's head. "Why didn't you just tell me?" he laughs. "Dude, I've slept with half the Cheerios. I'm like the _mascot _of the girls' swim team and you really think anyone's gonna believe I'm gay? I'm not exactly worried about damaging my rep."

Lifting his head, Mike dares a peek out from between his fingers. "Seriously? What about if you parents hear?"

Scoffing, Matt shrugs his shoulders. "If my parents hear then they'll ask me about it. And I'll tell them the truth – that it's a rumour started by an asshole who wants to cause trouble, and I like tits. Okay?"

Nodding, Mike finally allows himself a smile. "I should've told you huh?"

Reaching across, Matt cuffs him upside the head. "You think?" Then downing the last of his soda, he stands up. "Now, you ready for a rematch?"

Grinning, Mike grabs a handful of quarters out of his pocket. "Oh you're on."

xXx

It's the next day when Coach Tanaka insists they all go in full pads to the choir room and practice Kurt's 'Single Ladies' dance. The first rehearsal doesn't go well; Mike's surprised to see so many of the guys tripping over their own feet. For him, matching his moves to Kurt's is something that comes naturally – maybe from so many years of copying music videos and trying the choreography out when he's alone in his room. His body just seems to _obey _him like that. And he has to admit, when they come to practice the next day and Coach says he's splitting them into two groups – the guys who are ready to learn the next steps and the guys who need to go again over the basics – he can't help but feel pretty damn proud that he and Matt both make the A team.

He's expecting Kurt to be leading the choreography again. What he's _not _expecting is for his Chem partner to be standing in front of the choir room in a leotard and yoga pants, her hair pulled into a high pony and a nervous look on her face. Kurt stands next to her with Coach Tanaka and Mr Schuester off to one side.

Kurt explains that he's going to be running back over the basics with the other group while Tina takes them through the next lot of steps, but Mike honestly can't really pay attention to what he's saying because the minute the music starts playing, Tina – shy, stuttering, nervous Tina – is moving her body in ways he _never _imagined she could.

He quickly starts questioning the breadth of his imagination.

He's actually almost surprised by how long it takes for the jibes to start. They've been dancing almost a full ten minutes and are just taking a break so they can grab some water – and so Mr Schue can talk in the hall with Coach Sylvester – when the first comment slips out from between somebody's lips.

"Me likey likey her sucky sucky," one of the guys mutters from the back, and there's a general muffled chortle that breaks across the group. From the second row, Mike can't tell who's spoken, but he knows Tina's heard it. A flush creeps up her neck, but she holds her head up, moving to the CD player to make them go over the moves again.

As she bends at the waist, her body folded in half, it seems just too much temptation for one of the guys in the front; reaching out he grabs her hips and mimes grinding up against her as the others hoot and holler and laugh. Mike feels white-hot fury course through his veins, and he's about to move when another hand shoots out and pulls the guy off of Tina.

"Back the fuck off." Matt's voice is hard and steely and Mike doesn't think he's _ever _heard his best friend sound like that. Matt's always been _painfully _easygoing.

Jenson – the guy in question – snorts a laugh and shrugs his shoulders. "Just having some fun bro, chill out."

He pats Matt on the shoulder, but Matt brushes him straight off with an audible smack. "The fuck, _bro, _does she look like she's having fun?"

In truth, Mike's pretty impressed by how well Tina's reacting. She's got her head held high as she brushes herself off, even though from the second row he can see she's shaking.

"She's a _freak,_ what do you care?"

"She's a _girl _you asshole, or are you too fucking stupid to recognize one?"

It's of course, at that moment that Mr Schuester decides to return to the room, and he looks between Matt and Jenson with skepticism. The tension is palpable. "Everything okay here boys?" he asks, effable yet suspicious, one hand on each of their shoulders. The two football players stare at each other for a long beat before Jensen finally relents.

"Yeah. Yeah we're good. Let's get on with this shit."

Taking his place back in the line, Matt ends up next to Mike, and as the music starts playing, he turns to him. Mike's surprised to see his face so tense, but when he finally speaks, his words are definite. "I am so over this shit," he spits. "I don't care what they do to us dude, we're not – I'm not down with this any more. I'm not going to be a dick just to fit in."

When they leave rehearsal, Tina shoots a small smile at both of them from her place next to Mr Schue, and Mike's almost certain that Matt's elbow leaves a dent in his ribs.

xXx

After they win the football game there's a big party at one of the Senior's houses. Kurt's doesn't go – to no one's surprise – but Mike and Matt toast him with beer before seeking out Brittany and Santana, ostensibly to dance but also because Matt knows Puck and Santana are in an 'off again' week and wants to see if he can pick up the slack. So it is that he curses out loud when the mohawked man in question stops them on their way out of the kitchen, and Mike grins knowingly in his direction.

Puck – his own beer in hand – nods his head towards them. "Good game," he starts, holding his beer up, and they all clink their bottles together.

"Yep," Matt agrees, nodding his head.

"Definitely," Mike adds, and he can see Puck really wanting to roll his eyes; he and Matt have never exactly been known for being loquacious. He has to stifle a grin.

Then Puck says something Mike never expected to hear from him. "So you guys, like, want to join the Glee club with me?" Pointing to Matt, he raises an eyebrow. "Lot of hot girls in there." Then, turning to Mike, he pauses for a second before shrugging his shoulders. "And I'm sure there's lots of whatever you're into."

They don't give him an answer straight away. Sitting out on the deck that night, they both look out over the autumn-covered pool, the tarp undulating and snapping in the breeze. "We'd get to dance," Matt says simply, rolling his bottle between his palms. "I mean like, really dance. Not just DDR."

"Yeah," Mike says wistfully, taking a tug of his beer. He can already feel the beats of music running through his body, and his feet tap a random rhythm on the wooden stairs. "What about singing though? I mean, isn't it a singing group?"

Shrugging, Matt leans back against the wall of the house, crossing his legs at the ankle. "It's not really my thing but - you know - I can hold a tune. Hey look, we'll just be honest, say we're just there to sing in the background and, you know, bring some awesome moves."

Mike laughs at that before looking over at his friend. "You know it'll paint an even bigger target on us, right?"

Grinning, Matt looks up at the stars. "Fuck it. If we're gonna have a target on our backs, let's make it a big fuck off, sparkly one." Then holding his bottle out, he waits for Mike. "You in?"

A weird feeling crosses over Mike then, like a weight he didn't even know had been sitting on him starts to lift. Clinking his bottle with Matt's, he takes a long drink. "Definitely in."

xXx


End file.
